Apology
by Dark Kaneanite
Summary: An insight into Kane's mind as he tries to sort out a few things.


_A/N: Alright, this is extremely nonsensical. So if you're lost I don't blame you, I would be too if I wasn't privy to what he's talking about. My Kane muse has been trying to work through some problems and I guess writing this has made him feel a little better. I was going to trash it, but I then I figured, I just typed it all out why not post it._

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I'm not what I'm portrayed to be. That line has passed my lips many, many times and yet each time it feels more like a lie. Am I moody? Yes. Am I possessive? Yes. Am I violent? At times. Am I heartless? That is a toss up. I know I have one, it's being held by two men. One that loves me even though I up and take off for days—weeks at a time. And one that has seen the truth and has turned from me. Do I blame him? No. I've done nothing but give him reason to distrust me, to undo the courage that I helped him rebuild. But at the same time he's ten times stronger than I could ever wish to be.

I leave because I'm a sickness, a disease that will drag them down if I stay. Yet knowing that I can't stay away, I have to come back. I have to be near them both to calm the nagging voices that threaten to drown me in their screaming. I keep hoping that the longer I stay away the easier it'll be for them to turn to each other and find solace there, but when I return I find at least one still as infatuated with me as when I left. I try to push him away, to break this—this bond that we have but I can't. I'm too weak to do it. I eventually give in; lying to myself, telling myself that I'm worthy of them, of their love and devotion.

But in the end I sneak off in the middle of the night like a wounded dog and hole up at my brothers' place. And he's not the most understanding of men and likes his peace. Every scar on my body and face have been made by my own hand; reminders of what I'm capable of and why I can't let them in. I use the pain to try and kill what's inside. Every time I think of them, I grab whatever is closest and dig it into my skin. The result is horrific and one of these times I know I'm going to over do and it'll be over. But maybe that needs to happen, it would be the ultimate abandonment. There is no return from that, no way to come slinking back and watch them sleep at night; huddled together under a blanket that smells like me.

However even as I contemplate that I know I'll never go through with it. I can't, just thinking about never seeing either one's face—whether they twisted in hate or not—has tears rolling down my face. I'm crying; see what they do to me. I'm a fucking monster and I'm fucking crying over the thought of leaving two people alone. I want them to hate me. Hate I can deal with, I can always snarl and hurl insults back. But anything else is foreign to me. The jealously I feel when I see others talking; touching them in nearly unbearable and has landed me in a couple big altercations. One that left me passed out like a little bitch because of flash backs from something that happened long ago. And another that left my own brother a writhing, bloody mess on the floor of his basement.

Do I love them? Yes, with every fiber of my being, which is why I do what I do. It is best for them to find another if that is what they wish. I'm no good, I'll corrupt them, make them as sick and fucked up as I am. Will it kill me to see them in the arms of another? Of course. But is it for the best? Yes. I don't know what I thought to accomplish with this, I think it was supposed to be a letter to explain, but now I'm not so sure. I don't think I'm going to send it. Chances are the one that needs to read it would just tear it up. And then really what would be the point? I guess the only thing left to say is sorry.

Sorry for everything. Sorry for sticking my nose where it didn't belong. Sorry for butting in and conflicting him with his own feelings. But I guess the main thing I'm sorry for is for not being strong enough to be what they need and not strong enough to stick to my convictions. So am I what I'm portrayed to be? I think I am.


End file.
